


Destiny and Chicken

by JustAHobbit



Series: Fremione [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe- Fred Lives, And Fred deserved to live, And Fred takes care of her, Because I am bitter, Even though this takes place before Deathly Hallows, F/M, Fluff and Humor, I made a Merlin reference, Part 2!, This time it's Hermione who's sick, You thought Fred was dramatic when he was ill, and be happy with Hermione, just look at him when he's healthy, why am I making these two sick all the time?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 04:37:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12161670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAHobbit/pseuds/JustAHobbit
Summary: “Fat arse? Fat arse? I’ll have you know that my arse is a beautifully sculpted masterpiece.”Hermione wants to be left alone to die in peace. Fred persists in giving her chicken soup.





	Destiny and Chicken

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a Merlin reference.

            Hermione Jean Granger was in quarantine. Imposed on her by a well-meaning Mrs. Weasley (“Oh, dear, why don’t you pop off back to bed?”) and a self-serving Ginny Weasley (“I swear if you so much as _breathe_ on me Granger-”). To say she felt miserable, was an understatement. She ached from head to toe, _breathing_ was an effort, and her sinuses were so swollen it felt as if her eyeballs would pop themselves out of her skull.

            Someone rapped their knuckles enthusiastically on the other side of the bedroom door. Hermione groaned, clutching the thin blanket closer to her. Why was it so cold in this blasted house?

            “Who is it?” Hermione croaked.

            “It is destiny, Granger! Destiny and chicken!” Hermione groaned again.

            “I don’t want any bloody chicken,” Hermione complained. “I just want my head to explode so I can be put out of my misery.” She pulled the pillow down over her head as the door creaked open.

            “Well if you don’t eat the soup, more for the rest of us I suppose.” It was one of the twins. Hermione’s money was on Fred. He was popping up everywhere lately. Hermione nearly threw a book in the library one day out of fright when Fred popped his head over her shoulder and innocently asked “What’cha working on, Granger?”

            She heard a tray being set down somewhere nearby and then the mattress sank down next to her. “But I happen to know you haven’t eaten in a while and I did carry all of this up here for you. Least you can do is take a bite. It’s mum’s special recipe.”

            He tugged the pillow off and Hermione glared. Fred just smiled that _infuriating_ smile of his. The one that kept making Hermione’s brain go all fuzzy. Or maybe that was just the fever talking.

            Hermione turned her withering stare to the tray of food. Besides a bowl of soup, there was a cup of tea, an apple, and several bottles of unidentifiable potions. “Is it safe to eat?”

            “Of course it is! You wound me with your implications, Granger.” Fred would have looked affronted, had it not been for the twinkle in his eye. “What makes you think I would do anything to your food?”

            “That food was out of Molly Weasley’s sight for an indeterminable amount of time and you expect me to believe you didn’t do anything to it?” Hermione challenged.

            “Fair enough, Granger,” Fred nodded. “Fair enough. But there are a few problems with you theory.”

            “Like what?”

            “Well, for starters…” Fred stretched his arms above his head and laid back against Hermione. Her feeble struggles to escape were in vain. Had Fred always been this _solid?_

            “Wow, Ginevra needs to dust her ceiling sometime. Anyway, what was I saying. Ah, yes. I remember now. Yes, I did have ample opportunity to do something to your food. The possibilities were _endless_. I could have turned your hair pink, make it so you could only speak in rhymes-hey, Granger, stop being a bed hog. But I didn’t for several reasons. Do you want to know why?”

            Hermione paused her thrashing, trying to catch a breath. “Because you were planning on slowly crushing me to death with your fat arse?”

            Fred shot up, looking indignant. Hermione rubbed at her poor, abused ribs. “Fat arse? Fat arse? I’ll have you know that my arse is a beautifully sculpted _masterpiece_.”

            Hermione’s laughter turned into a coughing fit. “Who told you _that_?” she managed to wheeze.

            “Lee,” Fred replied happily. “He keeps spying on me in the shower. Do you think he might be in love with me? Or maybe it’s George. Can you _believe_ people get us mixed up?”

            Hermione laughed again, which turned into another coughing fit.

            “This right here,” Fred said, indicating the coughing “is one of the reasons why I didn’t do anything to your food. Why kick a witch when she’s down? The second reason is that you were so nice to me when I was sick, I thought I’d return the favour. And the third, most important reason, as to why I didn’t do anything to your soup is that I know what you would do to me in revenge would be the stuff of _nightmares._ ”

            Hermione rolled her eyes. “I had no idea I was so frightening.”

            “Not frightening. Just intimidating. Keeps a bloke on his toes.” He was doing that smile again. Hermione pushed herself up to a sitting position, wrapping the blanket around her like a cocoon. The dizziness passed after a moment.

            “Alright, I’ll eat the soup.”

            Fred gave a whoop of joy and jumped off the bed. He picked up the tray and let it occupy the space he had just vacated.

            “Alright, what do we have here?” Hermione asked. Despite herself, her stomach growled loudly.

            “Chicken soup,” Fred pointed out. “A cup of herbal tea, and an apple. Isn’t that a Muggle idiom? An apple a day and all that?”

            “It is,” Hermione. She took a spoonful of the soup. _Merlin,_ that was good. She’d have to thank Mrs. Weasley later. “What are the potions?”

            “This one,” Fred said, pointing to the green bottle “will clear your sinuses and _this one-_ ” He pointed to the violet bottle “should clear that cough and fever.”

            “Will either of them stop this room from being an icebox?” Hermione wondered. She shivered and clutched the bowl of soup closer to her for warmth.

            Fred rubbed his chin in thought, scratching the faint stubble there. “No, but I have something that could help with that. Back in a mo’” Fred bounded out of the room, leaving the door open a crack. The soup was half gone before Fred came back with a bundle of something in Gryffindor red.

            “Can’t have you freezing, Granger,” Fred joked, his cheeks tinged with pink from running up and down the stairs. He left the room again, closing the door behind him. Curious, Hermione unfolded the bundle. Butterflies erupted in her stomach again.

            It was an old Quidditch jumper of Fred’s.

            Not wanting to question her good luck, Hermione pulled it on over her head.

 

* * *

 

            Later, after Hermione had eaten, slept, and washed up, she felt much better than she had earlier in the day. That soup and those potions really did the trick. And true to Fred’s word, nothing happened to her. It truly had been ordinary soup. Wonderful soup. It was nice of Molly to fix it up for her.

            Hermione carefully descended the stairs with the tray in her hands, Fred’s jumper draped over one arm. Ginny, Harry, and Ron were huddled around playing a card game on the floor. Fred and George were lounging about in some squishy armchairs, talking quietly to themselves, with the latter twin jotting down notes every so often.

            “It’s out of its cave!” Ginny shrieked. She pulled the collar of her jumper over her nose and hid behind Harry, clutching at his arm (Harry seemed quite pleased by this development).

            “Oh, quit being so dramatic,” Hermione admonished good-naturedly. She saw Ginny smirk wickedly as she took a glance at Harry’s cards from over his shoulder. Oh, Ginny.

            “Feeling better, Granger?” George ventured to ask. Fred was busy examining his fingernails.

            “Much.” Hermione ducked into the kitchen with the tray. Mrs. Weasley was in there, flipping through her cookbook with one hand and waving her wand around in the other. Hermione had to dodge a few pans and the cutting board.

            “Oh, Hermione, dear! You finally have some colour back.” Mrs. Weasley beamed at the younger witch in between flipping pages. Hermione set down the tray by the sink before turning back to Mrs Weasley. Fred came into the kitchen behind his mother and began to look through the cupboards.

            “I just wanted to say thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione said.

            Mrs. Weasley waved off Hermione absentmindedly. “Oh, you’re welcome. Any time, dearest. What are you thanking me for, exactly?”

            “For the soup from earlier.” There was a crash and a sheepish “Sorry mum” from Fred.

            Mrs. Weasley lazily repaired the glass before turning back to Hermione. “What soup, dear?”

            Hermione opened her mouth to reply when Fred suddenly spoke up.

            “Ron! Are you using one of mum’s doilies as a handkerchief, _again_?”

            The effect was immediate. All the pots in the kitchen that had previously been floating by clattered to the ground and Mrs. Weasley rushed into the sitting room with an almighty roar of _“RONALD BILLIUS WEASLEY!”_

            Hermione put the pieces together quickly. Smirking, she walked up behind Fred filling up his glass at the sink. “Your mother didn’t know about the soup.”

            “Well, memory tends to go as you get older,” Fred reasoned. He turned and leaned casually against the sink. “She probably just forgot.” He took a long slow gulp from his glass.

            “Your mother _forgot_ that she made soup?” Hermione said skeptically. “I suppose she also forgot about the apple and the cup of tea?”

            “We’ve tried everything we can think of to help her memory, nothing seems to work.”

            “And I suppose those potions _also_ slipped her mind. It’s a shame. Those potions couldn’t have been easy to brew.”

            “Actually they-I mean we might need to take her to see a Healer if this memory loss keeps up. What’re you doing with that jumper?”

            He was changing the subject. Avoiding giving a straight answer. No matter. Hermione would get it from him sooner or later. There was nowhere for him to run to at the moment. She effectively had him cornered and they were out of sight of everyone in the next room.

            Hermione looked down at the jumper in her arms and held it out to Fred. “I was coming to give it back to you and to thank you for letting me borrow it.”

            Fred shook his head. “You keep it. It’s too small for me. You can wear it at the next match.”

            Hermione raised a brow. “Fred. This jumper goes down to my knees. You’re a foot taller than me. Is ‘too small’ really the excuse you’re going for?”

            Fred nodded grimly. “It really is.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. Took another sip of water. Hermione grinned.

            “You’re squirming. I’ve never seen you squirm before.”

            Fred’s ears turned pink. “‘m not,” he muttered.

            A thought occurred to Hermione and before she lost her nerve she stood up on her toes and gave Fred a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for the soup.” She turned and fled from the kitchen, not seeing the beaming, dreamy smile on Fred’s face.


End file.
